


Fire and Ice (Would Suffice)

by Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox



Category: The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Also Eobard had an affair with the Flash from his time, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Barry Allen/Iris West - Freeform, M/M, Unrequited, basically instead of wanting to kill barry eobard just wants him instead, but it was a sad time, gross overusage of em dashes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 05:26:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6225727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox/pseuds/Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He would be nothing without Barry Allen. He knew this now: A world without Barry Allen would change him irrevocably, and that wouldn't be for the better. No, the best thing would not be to rid himself of him, but instead to change him. </p><p>What better way than to gain his trust, his love, his affection? </p><p>There was nothing that made Barry Allen faster than his love, after all, and what a better partner, what a better <i>villain</i> he would be, than a faster Barry Allen. </p><p> </p><p> (And if he dared to admit it, there was nothing he wanted more than Barry Allen, prone and submissive before him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire and Ice (Would Suffice)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kyele](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyele/gifts).



> So: Admittedly, I haven't seen any of season two. LUCKILY this involves none of season two, becaaaause it's canon divergence, where, basically, Eobard decides not to kill Barry when he goes back in time.  
> Also he had an affair with his time's the flash---who was married to Iris. Who Barry travelled in time with to Eobard's time, where they were part of the Justice League together. Eddie is Eobard's grandfather.
> 
> Anyway this is all Kyele's fault

>  
> 
> _Some say the world will end in fire,_
> 
> _Some say in ice._
> 
> _From what I’ve tasted of desire_
> 
> _I hold with those who favor fire._
> 
> _But if it had to perish twice,_
> 
> _I think I know enough of hate_
> 
> _To say that for destruction ice_
> 
> _Is also great_
> 
> _And would suffice._
> 
> -Robert Frost

Were he a more poetic man, he would say they were something like flames. Perhaps they were. There was something destructive in the both of them, something that could burn worlds apart. Even when Barry didn’t want to admit it. They were the same, after all. Foils---hero and villain, villain and hero. If he was more maudlin, he might try to say that there could never be one of them without the other, but that was a lie. They could be apart, theoretically. They simply never would. They were scientists, after all, and despite the destructive pain that was the together, the thought of anything without the other was unimaginable. Everything would be a variable: there were no constants without them both.

No matter how much they hated each other, so much was born from that hate. Their very souls were, at some point. By now, Eobard didn’t even want to know what he’d be without Barry Allen. Even if he was better, he wouldn’t be himself, and he was enough of a narcissist to never allow that.

No, the two of them were touchstones to their greatness, one would not exist without the other. Even if they did, they would not be themselves.They would never be as great as they once were.

He knew this now, he was a fool to not have thought of it before. He couldn’t kill Barry Allen: It’d be akin to killing himself. No—he simply had to _create_ him, remake him in his own image.

He’d be so beautiful, then. They’d be so beautiful. Together.

After all, the villain always thought himself a hero too.

In the end, it wouldn’t be that difficult. The boy—(because he was not yet his, not yet _The Flash,_ not yet his Barry Allen who shaped him into something so great and so monstrous all at once)—already loved him; or rather, already loved Harrison Wells.  He simply didn’t know it yet, so caught up in his love for (Iris fucking West-Allen, His _wife_ —) that girl. No matter, that would fade in time. All loves did when they weren’t requited. (He would know. His turned to hate, in the end. Or perhaps it was obsession? Never mind. It certainly wasn’t love.)

The girl wouldn’t love him back, because she was with Detective Thawne. And the girl was anything but unfaithful. (Unlike her husband had been, once upon a time. But in a way, he had regretted what they had. What they did. Still, that never meant that the Flash did not end up in Eobard’s flat from time to time, bent over whatever flat surface was nearest, begging and keening and vibrating as they completed each other in a way that nobody else ever would. Still, he always regretted it afterwards. Always said it was the last time, once the need had been sated, that it was wrong, that it would never happen again.) And when the girl rejected him finally, there he would be, lonely and upset—and of course, who else would comfort him but his loving mentor?

That would, of course, be when he would strike. Barry Allen would be his, and they would be greater together than they ever were apart.

* * *

A knock upon his office door, too late for either Caitlin or Cisco. “Doctor Wells?” He said, shuffling his feet as he stepped inside. “Can I talk to you? Just for a minute.”

Eobard smiled. “Of course you can.”

He relaxed visibly; Barry couldn’t even tell himself that he had been shaking, a little bit jittery and unknowingly tapping into the speed force. Adorable. “You know—Caitlin and Cisco already went home.Why do you always stay in the office so late?”

“No rest for the wicked,” he quipped. “Now, what did you need to talk to me about?”

He laughed nervously, his hand rubbing the back of his neck and shifting his weight from foot to foot. “It’s stupid.”

“Nothing you could say to me could be stupid, Barry. What is it?” He leaned back in his chair: open, inviting posture. A smile: friendly, amicable.

“It’s…about Iris.”

Fire ran through his veins for a split second, then he calmed. His fingers had twitched lightning-fast from where they were gripped on his wheelchair: Barry had seemed not to notice. Bless his sweet, oblivious soul. “What about her?”

“Well the thing is, yesterday, or really today? In the day that didn’t happen—"

“Barry, I told you to not tell me anything more about the future.” Not telling him anything more about Iris West would also be appreciated.

“Please, Doctor Wells—I feel like if I don’t tell anyone I’d just—It already happened, anyway.” Oh, he always did look so pretty when his eyes were wide and pleading. Eobard’s only weakness.

“And you feel like if you don’t tell anyone you’d go mad.” He surmised.

“Exactly!”

“Very well, then, Mr. Allen. Tell me what happened. But none of the details.” He sighed, cleaning his glasses on his shirt.

“Well, it was after Joe had been kidnapped—"

“Barry.”

He ran a hand through his hair. Ah, that lovely hair. “Right, sorry.” He muttered. “Well, the thing is, we were in a life-or-death situation and Iris—she told me—"

“That she loved you.” He said. Oh no, that couldn’t be allowed. If all it took was the looming threat of her imminent demise to make Iris West admit her feelings, then, well. He’d have to spend time actually _protecting_ her.

“She kissed me.”

Never mind, he would kill her himself, before she could make any declarations of love. He’d be damned before he let her touch him again. He would be his, this time. Only his. (It was probably a little silly, but he always liked to imagine that the first time he took Barry in this universe, he’d be a virgin, trembling and quivering and uncertain and _his._ Nobody else would have dared touch him; nobody else would have dared make him shiver and cry out in pleasure. He would know no one but him. Pure, untouched, like a bride in some old fashioned romance novel.)  “And now you’re upset because it never happened.”

“It _did_ happen!”

“In another world, Barry.” Which was the only reason why Iris West still drew breath. “To her, none of that’s happened. To her, she still loves Eddie, and you’re just her friend, and there is no reason for her to feel anything towards you.” Oh, the irony. How many times had he been told nearly the same thing, during the off-again part of their on-again-off-again relationship? That he ‘still loved Iris’ and, _Eobard, you’re a friend, but, it all meant nothing._

“But she does feel things for me! She told me—“

“In an alternate universe that will never happen now, under increasingly stressful circumstances. That’s the only reason.” _It’s just the stress and the danger, and Eo, you know we shouldn’t have been doing this in the first place—_

“But—it was real.”

“And now it’s not.” Just like that. He adjusted his glasses, “Barry, you may never get back what you had in the other reality. This does not mean that you cannot have something good here.” He paused, leaning forwards slightly, letting his eyes linger just a second longer, a second too long. “Maybe even something better.”

“I can’t imagine anything better than that.”

He could. “Think of it like this, Barry: you get a second chance. Just because she says she doesn’t love you now does not mean she will not love you eventually. Now,” he allowed himself a small smile. “You can make everything absolutely _perfect_.”

“Perfect,” he murmured, trying out the word on his red, soft lips. “It’ll all be perfect.”

Yes, it wouldn’t be too long before he had Barry Allen in his bed. Just as predicted, the girl turned him down. Again, and again, and again. More the fool was she; while she was off playing house with Eobard’s grandfather, Barry grew more and more frustrated, more and more volatile. ( _All loves could fade, if they were unrequited.)_

“I just don’t get it! I know she likes me, Dr. Wells, so why can’t she just admit it?” He huffed, flopping down into the chair beside him. “I try and I try, but—"

“It’s like she’s refusing to see you.” Oh, Eobard knew that feeling quite well. “Not literally, not physically, but it’s like she doesn’t let herself admit that you’re there, because if she does, she’ll do something that she’ll regret.” He allowed himself a calculated touch to Barry’s shoulder, a location neutral enough for it to still be considered platonic, but just a fraction of a second too long for it to truly be. Just to keep him guessing, just to make Barry doubt whether or not his own feelings were particularly platonic.

“Exactly!” He said, just on this side of breathless, and oh, if that didn’t do things to him. “Like she knows that she wants me but she won’t let herself acknowledge it.”

“Barry,” he murmured, trying to keep his voice from turning into something more like a  purr, low and sinful and full of the pent up need that he had kept denying himself since arriving in this time.

“I know, I know, I probably shouldn’t be bothering you with this, but it’s just—There’s something about you, Dr. Wells,” he stuttered, all coltish limbs and nerves. He looked up with big doe eyes; once again, Eobard was left praising his lucky stars that he would get to have this Barry Allen, this young and naive and idealistic Barry Allen who stared at him like he could remake the world with a snap of his fingers. “I feel like…I can trust you. Caitlin and Cisco, they’re great, but—”

“They don’t quite understand.” He answered for him. “They love you and they’re your friends, but they don’t understand how it feels.”

“Exactly,” he said, breathless and wide eyed again, and there were few things Eobard wouldn’t give to accelerate his timetable and pull him down into his lap to kiss him senseless. Unfortunately, his plan was one of them. All good things came to those who waited, after all. And having Barry as his, to possess him fully and irrevocably, to leave a mark that would never fade on his soul; all of that was far better than a few moments of fevered kisses and losing him forever. “You know—Caitlin says that I should just give up. That I should let her go. That Iris has made her choice and I’m just—not it.”

“But you don’t want to give up.”  He said. “You think that if you just keep trying, if you keep reminding her how much  you love her, she’ll give up, she’ll leave him, because she’ll finally see that you could be so much better together than you would be apart.”

“That’s it!” He said, leaning just a little bit closer. “How do you always know what I’m thinking?”

He grinned bitterly. “Ah, personal experience, I suppose.” He said. “I once loved someone who was married.”

He could see Barry struggling for a moment, against his monogamous morality and the way he believed that once someone was married, they were off limits forever. “And?”

“And what?”

“Did it work out for you?”

He forced a smile. “Let’s put it like this: they’re still married.”

The smile fell from Barry’s face. “So it didn’t work.”

“Not as such, no. Not for me.” He sighed. “But Barry, you do know that I want you to succeed at everything you try? Even if it is just matters of the heart.” He let his eyes linger again, a second too appreciative, a second too long.  “Better, stronger, faster, the more your emotions grow, the more your attachments to people grow, so do these things. I want you to be _better_ , Barry. In every way.”

His pupils dilated slightly—perhaps the timetable was moving up schedule? No, he ought to play it safe. If Barry wanted him, he certainly didn’t realize it yet. And when he did realize it, Eobard would wait until Barry came to him, pale skin and long limbed and beautiful and begging. He would be his. Eventually. “But…If it didn’t work for you, then how could it work for me? Maybe…Maybe it would be better if I just gave up. If I let Iris go. If I moved on.” He was close now, closer than before.

“Maybe,” he agreed, trying to ignore how Barry was so close he could practically feel the heat radiating from his body. “Maybe what happened in that alternate world was just a fluke, a random variation, that occurred because of the circumstances you were placed in. Maybe you cannot ever have that again, Barry, but if there is one thing I know: The future is never set in stone.”

“Yeah…” He mumbled.

Eobard dared to let his hand rest on top of Barry’s. “You can be great, Barry Allen. Trust in that.” If he tried hard enough, he could almost pretend that he could feel him trembling underneath him.

“Dr. Wells—”

“Barry, you’re in my office talking to me about the woes of your love life, I’m fairly certain you can call me Harrison.”

“Right, Harrison,” he coughed. He probably would take some time getting used to calling him that; in another life, Eobard could remember how long it took for him to stop calling the Flash _Mr. Allen_ , even in his head.“I, uh, just wanted to say thank you, I guess? For listening.”  

“Anytime, Barry.” He hummed. “But you should head home. It’s getting late, Joe’s probably worried about you.”  

* * *

 

“Gideon, please note considerable progress made with the subject, today.”

* * *

 

He didn’t often allow himself the luxury of imagining his plans coming to fruition; if he did, he’d be far too lost in the ecstasies to get anything done. Still, he had to had some sort of vice, and if his was imagining Barry Allen lying prone beneath him, hair tousled and clinging to him as he obeyed without question, as he took everything he was given; well, who could blame him. It wouldn’t be too long now. He knew it—he could see the way Barry watched him from across the room, could see the way his eyes lingered for just a moment too long, even when Barry himself hardly even noticed they did. He wanted him.

Yet still, Barry hid behind his love—his _infatuation_ for that girl, hid behind the promise of platonic mentorship. Eobard was left to wonder if perhaps he was still laboring under the impression of heterosexuality—the Barry he had known had been fairly confident in being bi, though he had been married. The thought was pleasing, in a way, and also frustrating. On one hand, knowledge that no matter what, he would always be the first man to lay a hand on him, to make him come apart. However: Barry might be laboring under the idea that he could not be in love with him. So, what was it going to take? Perhaps some grand declaration of love between Iris and Detective Thawne, where he could sweep in and comfort Barry. Some situation where he could present himself as his savior like a white knight in an old fairytale, or perhaps—perhaps the seduction techniques simply needed to be slightly more aggressive. With Barry more willing to take most signs of affection as nothing but platonic, he could take certain liberties; lean in closer, touch him more frequently, rest his hand on his hip or his shoulder. (In certain fantasies, in certain _dreams_ , he kissed Barry’s cheek and whispered _mine,_ and Barry only shivered, kissed him properly, and said _yes, yours. Always yours. Eobard—_ of course, that was a dream. And even with his plan, it was unlikely to occur.) Perhaps he could fix his hair, or meet his eyes when Barry didn’t know he was staring, and watch him blush that delightful, coquettish pink.

* * *

 

In the end, it was Detective Thawne’s proposal that did it. Barry appeared at his door, practically shaking and barely holding back sobs. Surprisingly, it was not his office this time, but instead the modern glass-and-chrome creation he dared to call his home. “Dr. Wells?” He called. “Er—Harrison?” Honestly, _Dr. Wells_ sounded better than _Harrison_ did on Barry’s tongue, but a level of companionship came from that superficial layer of informality.

“Barry? What a surprise.” He ushered him inside, of course, onto one of the chairs. “What is it?”

“It’s—It’s Iris. Eddie. Eddie proposed to her.” He coughed. “She—she said yes.”

“Oh, Barry.” He sighed, lying a hand on his shoulder. He had already known, of course, that was one of the advantages of future technology. “I’m so sorry.”

“I really was too late, wasn’t I? I had all that time to tell her, but I never did. I never did.”

“That’s how it goes, sometimes, I’m afraid.” he said, watching his hand rub the back of Barry’s shoulders, wondering if he could let his hand travel up into Barry’s hair. “You love someone, sometimes with your entire being, but they still won’t choose you. And you’re always left wondering: why wasn’t I good enough.” He sighed. Oh, his hair was really that soft; he had almost forgotten. “But Barry, you’re more than good enough. The worst mistake in her life will be letting Barry Allen get away, I can promise you that.”

“No,” he mumbled, when it seemed his voice was more reliable. “She deserves better than me, really. I should’ve told her sooner, or said something, or literally just did anything, but I didn’t…”

“Barry Allen,” He said. “Look at me.” He wiped away a stray tear with his thumb; Their faces were so close together he could almost feel the warmth of Barry’s breath against his lips. “No one could ever deserve better than you.”

A split second passed, Barry quivering underneath his touch, breath shaking. Then: He pushed forwards, their lips meeting in a desperate clash as he grasped at companionship, at closeness, at comfort, of anything but the loneliness which threatened at his very soul. He pulled him into his lap; Barry keened and scrambled for purchase as he grabbed at his shoulders. When they broke apart, still so close that their noses touched, Barry gasped for air. “Doctor Wells—Harrison—I—”

“Shhh,” He whispered instead, nipping at the tender flesh of his neck and watching him moan. _I don’t think she ever understood how great you are,_ he didn’t say. _You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re finally just_ mine, he also didn’t say. Instead, all he did was gasp, “God, you’re so beautiful,” before kissing him again.

And Barry laughed in a way that sounded a bit more like a sob, before he did the same.

* * *

 

That, of course, wasn’t the end of it all; a few days afterwards Barry tried to pretend it didn’t mean anything, that it was just a mistake. (Oh, that could hurt if he didn’t remind himself that it was only temporary.) But after Barry realized that he could want him, (could _love_ him, a part of him thought triumphantly,) Eobard had seduction down to a science. With just the slightest touch, he could remind Barry of the way his hands felt in his hair, the way it felt when they were twined so close it was like their souls combined.

Eventually, Barry showed up outside his office door, and it had nothing to do with Iris West, and everything to do with kissing him senseless. In time, he’d have him in his bed without any pretenses, have him in his bed calling out his name and nobody else’s. In time, he would kiss his cheek and whisper: “ _Mine_ ,” and Barry would laugh and kiss him soundly. And when they were like that, trusting and perfect and finally, finally his, they’d remake the world in their own image.

 

(They were a bit like fire and ice: both could burn, both could destroy. And eventually, like the aftermath of a dying star, the world would fall to one of them—or both.)

 


End file.
